


I'm Really Hurt

by ViolentVioletEye



Series: The Rise and Fall of Quinn Firethief [2]
Category: Wizard101
Genre: Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, Fireball Whiskey, Five Stages of Grief, Flashbacks, Gen, Only he shoots right to anger and depression, PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, breaking point, but its not descriptive, character death (mentioned), dude is a mess, tags will be updated if anything changes, vomit warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentVioletEye/pseuds/ViolentVioletEye
Summary: Quinn's last friend leaves him, and he's not surprised.He hits his lowest, and Professor Cyrus is the only one around to pull him back to his feet.
Series: The Rise and Fall of Quinn Firethief [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650793
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. The Amulet

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if any of you have realized it yet, but I don't drink alcohol. So I don't know much about it. I did do some research and I saw people giving me varying responses on how much Fireball would be too much, some said they could handle a bottle, others said they couldn't even handle a couple of shots of it. My thought process is that Quinn has been drinking this like, nearly every day for probably two, three months at this point. So I'd say he's got a good resistance. Yeah, he drinks a lot of it in like, literal minutes, but he's not gonna walk away from it scotch free. This might not be entirely accurate, but it's not gonna be so farfetched. Just work with me please LMAO
> 
> Other than that, enjoy! It gets rough, real fast!

It happened the night that they dueled for the fifth time. Professor Cyrus—whom Quinn started to just call Cyrus behind his back after he kicks his ass for the third Saturday in a row—and Quinn had been doing this for a month and one week, meeting every Saturday without fail. Quinn always brought some Fireball Whiskey for them to fight over. He usually had a few gulps before Cyrus would show up to pull out his wand and begin the duel without a word. Quinn wasn’t sure what Cyrus was doing with the alcohol, he didn’t seem like the type to drink whiskey. Quite a few times he had caught Quinn off guard and pulled him off into a battle sigil and made him drop the bottle in the process, which would cause most, if not all, of the alcohol to spill. It was such a waste, and it pissed Quinn off. He started getting smaller and cheaper bottles just for these duels. They did enough to occupy his time while he was walking to the usual spot.

That night, he arrived at his dorm rather late. He had been doing that a lot lately. He couldn’t stand being in the dorm, not when it had some of his most cherished memories about his best friend. The late nights spent talking instead of studying or sleeping, how they would have playdates with their little pets, how they would just lounge in silence as Quinn studied or read and he would tune his lute… It was all too much. Nowadays, Quinn couldn’t even look at his pets. He was sure they didn’t quite understand, but how the hell could he explain death to them when some days he couldn’t even face the truth himself?

He knew that if he wanted to make it to the spot so they could have their duel at the usual Cyrus seemed like the type of man to get angry over that, even though they’d never made this whole thing official and thus, had never set an official time—he was going to have to go in, grab a bottle, and get going. He planned on doing just that, but when he came up to his door in the boys’ dorm, he found a package sat in front of his door. It was half opened, with one of the folds pulled back while the other was still dipped in. He blinked and then frowned. He hadn’t ordered anything, and everyone in the dorms knew better than to try and pull some pranks on him nowadays. The last idiot that had tried ended up with their eyebrows gone after a close call with one of his spells. Was it a booby-trap? Some enemies trying to get revenge on him? He sighed as he suddenly realized he didn’t care. It could blow up in his face for all he cared. He had things to do. He strode up to the box and pulled up the other flap so he could look inside.

His heart stopped.

There was only one thing inside of the box, and it was an amulet. It had a golden chain with a pink gem. Tiny sigils traced the edges of the gem, and even though he couldn’t see the back, he knew there was a glowing symbol carved into the metal so it was fueled by magic. He knew that because he had bought this amulet, this _exact_ amulet, nearly a year ago.

*****

_“Quinn, you shouldn’t have!"_

_Sarai’s voice was soft and had a tone of something like disbelief. She cradled the amulet in her hands with a sort of touch you would give a newborn baby. They were standing in Quinn’s dorm. It was the weekend and they were both out of their robes. Quinn wore a sweatshirt and some jeans with some simple sneakers, and Sarai wore a pretty sundress that had pineapples printed on the white fabric along with some white flats. Her long brown hair was done up in a braid and slung over her shoulder. The style suited her, Quinn decided the moment he looked at her._

_“Well, you keep having difficulty with your mana reserve.” He resisted the urge to rock back on his heels. “This is supposed to give you twenty more. I know it’s not much, but, it was all they had in the shop…” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled nervously. “Do— Do you like it?”_

_“I love it!” Sarai looked at him and grinned before she suddenly stepped forward and hugged him. She smelled of flowers, as most life sorcerers did. They did do a lot of gardening, after all; Sarai especially. He felt his cheeks getting a bit warm as she propped her chin up on his shoulder. Her breath brushed against his ear and he could feel her smile more than he could see. “Thank you, so much.”_

_He was thankful, not for the first time, for his speech lessons while he was growing up. It was his taught self-reserve that kept his voice from shaking as he wrapped his arm around her waist and said; “Of course, Sarai. You’re my friend!”_

_Sarai stepped back and released him from her soft and warm hold. He already found himself missing her touch. She smiled at him widely and opened her mouth, but Quinn never got to hear what she planned on saying as the door behind them swung open._

_“Hey! Sorry I’m late, guys! I had to drop off an essay to Professor Cyrus!”_

_Quinn laughed and grinned. “Hey! It’s alright—!”_

*****

Quinn shoved his dorm door open. He had kicked the box aside after he pulled out the amulet. He gripped it in his hand now, so tightly in his fist that he wondered if he would crush the chain. The pink gem glowed up at him almost mockingly. The sigil on the back felt like it was burning him. There was no doubt in his mind that this amulet had been left by Sarai. There was also no doubt that she had left it as a way to tell him that she didn’t want to be friends anymore.

He dropped the amulet in favor of ripping a loose board out of the floor. He yanked a large bottle of Fireball Whiskey and yanked off the cap. This brand is the good kind. It cost him nearly a hundred bottles for just this one bottle. But it's good because it gets people drunk, _fast._ And he needed to get drunk at that very moment. He’s never needed to get so fucking drunk. He chugged from the bottle, tipping his upper body back to get as much in his mouth as he could. That proved to be a mistake as he choked, hunching to the side as he pulled the bottle from his mouth, coughing and spitting up the orange liquid as it burns in his throat. He quivered, on his hands and knees, before he began to laugh. It started as a low wheeze and then increased in volume as he realized just what position he was in. His last real friend, the first person he had ever loved romantically, had officially cut herself out of her life.

 _That’s her decision,_ the rational side of his brain whispered, _you can’t change it. There’s no choice in being upset over it. You have to go on._

 **But we don’t want to go on,** the other side of his brain hissed. **Of course, it’s her decision, of course, we can’t change it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. We’ve lost everyone. We’ve lost everyone because we’ve pushed them all away. Sarai was all we had left and now she’s gone.**

**_And it’s my fault._ **

Quinn pushed himself up to his knees. He took another deep swig from his bottle. He didn’t drink as fast, but he drank longer. Before he knew it, half of the bottle was gone.

**_Because I’m the one who told her I needed time to be alone, to find myself. But all I’m doing is trying to find myself at the bottom of a bottle._ **

He stood up. His pets had hidden under and around the bed and they watched him with mournful looks. His firecat, Amber, debated on going to his side, but something in her sad heart told her there was no point. She hadn’t been able to reach him in months, sober or drunk. Nothing was going to change that now.

He looked at the clock, bloodshot eyes blinking. He looked another swig of his alcohol. He and Cyrus usually fought around one am, and it twelve fifty-five. He needed to get going, he realized. He gripped the bottle in one hand and fumbled for his bow with the other, snatching it off the wall where he had hung it up Friday night. He never went questing anymore. He didn’t need it for the weekends. He spent the weekends studying, rarely dueling, or sleeping. Drinking, too. He chugged from the bottle again as he stumbled out of the room. His foot bumped against the cardboard box and he quickly took another chug.

By the time he had left the dorm, there were only a few sips left in the bottle.


	2. I Think I'm Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn goes to his and Cyrus's Saturday duel, utterly wasted.

Cyrus was already there when Quinn came stumbling into the little garden area. He took in his stumbling gait, the way his body was swaying and how he could barely stay on his feet, and, of course, the now-empty bottle of Fireball Whiskey in his hand. He crinkled his nose.

“There’s nothing to duel for if it’s empty, Firethief,” Cyrus informed him as if he were a child, crossing his arms across his chest. The end of his wand glimmered in the moonlight. Quinn rubbed at his face roughly before he tossed the bottle aside. It hit a tree and broke with large shards, which scattered as they hit the ground. Cyrus’s eyes widened at the audacity of it all. _“Firethief!_ There was absolutely no reason—!”

Quinn pulled out his bow and Cyrus stiffened. He watched as the Prince fumbled with it and nearly dropped it twice before, finally, a battle sigil appeared beneath their feet and pulled them to their respective spots. While Cyrus settled easily, Quinn looked positively sick. He looked green in the face as he stumbled in the circle, swaying more than ever. Cyrus gritted his teeth. “This duel is useless, and not to mention, dangerous. You’re drunk. Do you really think you’re going to win?” Quinn hiccuped.

“‘Course I don’t. Still wanna do it.” He fumbled with his bow, trying to fit his hands into the right slots. Cyrus watched with exasperated dismay, shaking his head when Quinn got even greener.

“Boy, think this through. You have less than ten seconds to pick a card, and—!”

Cyrus was cut off by the loud sound of retching. As he watched, Quinn’s body jerked and trembled before he suddenly leaned over, outside of his sigil, and vomited right onto the floor. Cyrus didn’t say anything. Honestly, he was rather speechless. As Quinn’s turn came and went, it switched to Cyrus, who sighed. “I’m not fighting you like this, Firethief. Look at you. You’re a drunken mess. You need to go back to your dorm and sleep this off. Perhaps even take a shower.” He stared at Quinn for a moment longer before he turned his back to him, intending to ‘flee’ from the battle even if it did take all of his energy. Quinn lifted his head and glared at his back with beady gold eyes.

“Running, huh?” He hiccuped. “Jeez, you and Malistaire _are_ related.”

As soon as those words slipped from Quinn’s mouth, the rational part of him regretted it. But his entire being regretted it when Cyrus whipped around, eyes wide and blazing as he lifted his wand. _“How dare you!”_ He roared, before a stream of yellow shot from his wand. Quinn blinked.

“Oh, sh—”

The blast collided with his chest, and the force sent him flying out of the sigil. It was an immediate win for Cyrus, but the Professor didn’t care; especially when he heard the _thump, crack_ of Quinn hitting the stone wall behind him. His eyes widened and regret seized hold of him as he lowered his wand. The sigil disappeared as he stepped forward. “Quinn!” He shouted before he sprinted to his side. He dropped to one knee beside him and grabbed his arm. Quinn groaned and his head rolled to the side.

“Ah, _fuck…”_ He muttered. Cyrus gritted his teeth.

“This is why we don’t duel when we’re drunk! We make bad decisions when we’re drunk!” He scolded, though he was completely sober. He was too rattled. He had never struck a student like this before. Sure, he trained and dueled with his students, but it never went this far. He was always careful. He always had expert control. “Let me see your head.” He cupped the back of Quinn’s head, being as careful as he could, only to feel his heart drop as he felt something sticky and warm. Quinn groaned again and then whimpered.

“I think, I think I’m hurt.”

Cyrus pulled his hand back. Sure enough, he saw streaks of blood stained on his fingers. He swallowed. Quinn whimpers again, quieter than last time.

“I think I’m really hurt…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sort of starts to get better after this I swear.


	3. Life Heals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus isn't a life wizard. So he goes to the nearest one. Professor Moolinda Wu.

“Okay.” Cyrus looked around. It was past one now. There was no one around the streets, at least, there  _ shouldn’t  _ be. There weren’t many rules when it came to upperclassmen, but the younger students did have a curfew at ten. They had to be inside, and all lights were off at eleven. He grabbed Quinn’s arms and pulled him up to his feet. “Okay, come on, let's get inside my classroom. I can take a look at it.” Quinn whimpered again, but stumbled after Cyrus. Cyrus kept a hand on his lower back, trying his best to lead him along. Quinn almost fell a handful of times, but thanks to Cyrus’s grip and Quinn’s will, even though he was absolutely wasted  _ and  _ suffering a concussion, they made it into the classroom without any mishaps.

Cyrus sat Quinn in a chair at one of the desks. He shoved the act desk away for more room so he could crouch in front of him. He grabbed the sides of his face, pressed his pointer fingers against his temples, and concentrated. Quinn trembled in his hold, and while he was staring right at him, his eyes looked distant. Like he wasn’t all there. Cyrus sighed. “Quinn? Are you still here with me?” Quinn tried to nod his hair, then hissed as agony shot up the back of his neck.

“O-Ow… It… It hurts.” Cyrus’s heart panged. Everyone could say what they wanted; he was one of the toughest teachers here, he did have a snarky tongue, but he still cared about the students in his own way. He cared about them enough to never want to see them hurt, or go out of his way to cause them physical pain. Seeing Quinn like this hurt, and it hurt even more because he knew he was the cause of it. What he said had been cruel, but Cyrus should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have let his emotions get the better of him. He was a Professor, a teacher, a  _ guide  _ before anything. His emotions didn’t matter, only his disciples.

Then again, he hadn’t been sticking to that much lately, hadn’t he?

“Why are you so drunk? What were you thinking, drinking that entire bottle and then trying to duel me?” He kept his voice firm, even though his soul was trembling. Quinn grunted.

“Wanted to fight. Didn’t matter if… If I was drunk. Gettin' hurt makes it all stop. Just for a bit."

“Well are you can see, it  _ does _ matter. Did something happen to make you drink so much before the duel?”

Quinn fell silent. He swallowed and tears welled in his eyes. Cyrus paused. He pulled his hands back as he stared, his lips parted in surprise. He had never seen Quinn… Cry. Even when he and Sarai came back to tell them what had happened, with Sarai clinging to his arm and sobbing, with his empty eyes and still face.

“S-Sarai,” Quinn finally stuttered out. “She… She left her amulet.” His bottom lip trembled and he whimpered. “She doesn’t… She doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore.” Quinn reached up and rubbed his temple. Cyrus grabbed his hand and pulled it back. He didn’t want him to mess anything up, or disturb the magic he had wrapped around his head. Quinn’s hand trembled in his grasp. “She… She’s left me too,” Quinn whimpered. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. “I’m all alone now, and, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’ve lost my only best friends and, and it’s my f-fault…!” His words trailed off into a sob and he covered his face with both of his hands. Cyrus stared at him before he chewed his bottom lip. He stood and looked at the back of Quinn’s head, then winced. His magic had helped with the bleeding, but it had done nothing for the cut the jagged stones on the wall had made. He could only do so much as a Myth wizard. The nearest hospital was halfway across town.

But, then again, he did know of one teacher that often stayed up as late as he did...

“Come on. We need to go to Professor Moolinda.” Quinn whimpered and shook his head. “Quinn.”

“Can’t,” he slurred out. “I can’t, I’ll fall and just get hurt again!” He whimpered and Cyrus sighed through his nose. “’m really hurt, ’m really hurt…!”

“I know.” Cyrus’s voice was a level of softness he never gave students. He knew Quinn wouldn’t remember much of this anyway, being so wasted and with his head cut open. “I know you are, Quinn. I know. But we need to go to Moolinda. Can I carry you?”

“C— Carry me?” Quinn muttered. “You’re like… A twig, Professor…” Cyrus snorted and crouched down.

“I was also in a war,” he informed him. “Now come on. This’ll be easier if you wrap your arms around my neck.” If Quinn were sober, he’d be uncomfortable, even insulted with the idea of being carried like a child. Especially by someone like Cyrus. But he was very much  _ not  _ sober, so he lifted his arms and threw them around Cyrus’s neck without complaint. Cyrus wrapped his arms around Quinn’s waist and took a deep breath, before he pushed them onto his feet. He huffed and stumbled back a bit as Quinn’s entire weight was laid on him. Quinn’s feet brushed against the floor, before he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Cyrus’s waist. He was essentially koala-ed himself to the professor, with his legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around his neck. Cyrus huffed and adjusted him, bringing him up higher so he had a stronger grip. The last thing he needed was dropping Quinn on the path.

He pushed the classroom door open with a hip, kicked it shut behind him, and then hurried the best he could with Quinn in his arms, down the path, right towards the Life School. The entire way there, Quinn kept muttering one thing, over and over again.

“’m really hurt…”

After the fifth time, Cyrus began to wonder if he was even talking about the wound.

*****

Moolinda Wu, Professor of the Life School, often stayed late to grade papers and tend to the garden she had in a side room. She had finished grading papers awhile ago, and was just finishing up her gardening when she heard her door swing open. She looked up from the Pink Dandelion that she was tending to, blinking in confusion, before she heard shuffling and then a voice.

“Moolinda? Are you here?”

“Cyrus?”

She stood and took off her gloves, disposing them into an empty flower pot near the door. When she stepped into the main room of her classroom, she gasped. Her co-worker was cradling a student she recognized all too well in his arms, his hand pressed against the back of his head while the student hid his face in Cyrus’s shoulder. “Is that Quinn?! What happened?!”

“He’s hurt. There’s a cut on the back of his head. I was able to stop the bleeding for awhile, but it’s starting back up again.”

“How did he get hurt?!”

Cyrus hesitated. While Quinn wasn’t allowed to drink on school grounds, Cyrus also wasn’t allowed to duel a student with supervision. It was because of moments like this. Cyrus had never told Ambrose that Quinn was drinking, mainly because he knew he was a good kid and an… okay student, when put up to Cyrus’s standards. His family didn’t need him being suspended for drinking, or, worse, expelled. It would be the worst thing that could happen to his family. It’d be put right up there with their home practically becoming inhabitable except for maybe ten, fifteen percent of the land. But Quinn was a good kid, and Cyrus knew that if he covered it up, then Quinn would go with whatever he said.

“I found him on the ground. I believe he tripped and cracked his head on the floor. He reeks of alcohol, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wasted.”

“Oh, the poor boy! Hold on, I have a cot in the supply closet!”

Cyrus looked down at Quinn as Moolinda rushed out of the room. He was mumbling things, but it was too low for him to understand. He didn’t ask for him to speak up, he just kept him close, and didn’t comment on the dampness that was spreading on his shoulders. Moolinda hurried back inside, holding a collapsible cot on wheels. She unfolded it easily enough and laid it down, and while Cyrus lowered Quinn down onto the cotton surface, she crossed the room to a shelf of potions she had. She grabbed a few vials, checking the labels at record speed before she grabbed her wand from her desk. Her wand was a fan, much like the ones from her homeland, Mooshu.

Quinn had tears streaming down his face still as she approached, and her heart ached at the sight. “P-Professor Wu…?” He stuttered out as he looked up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hello dear,” she whispered. “Can you drink a few things for me? Please?” Quinn whimpered but nodded. “Cyrus, can you help him sit up? I’ll look at his head while he’s drinking.” Cyrus nodded and grabbed Quinn’s hand long enough to pull him up, then pressed his hand against his upper back to keep him there. He took the three vitals from Moolinda. “Don't have him drink this one just yet,” she told him as she handed the last vial, one that was a midnight blue with sparks that swirled inside of it. Cyrus furrowed his eyebrows but just nodded. Myth didn’t deal with a lot of potions, so he just took her word for it. He knew he could. As he got Quinn to drink the other too—one was a strawberry red and the second was a sickly green color, the smell was atrocious and it took him awhile to get Quinn to finally drink it all down—Moolinda focused on the back of Quinn’s head. She winced as she found the cut in his wild hair. The strands around it were matted with blood, both dry and fresh. It wasn’t that bad, she had certainly seen worse in her short but eventful lifetime, but it surely looked painful. How hard had he hit his head, falling down? She shook her head and decided to focus on healing the wound, rather than debating on what could have caused it. She opened her fan with the flick of her wrist, and green magic danced across the top of the folds. As she fanned it towards him, the cold air drifted the sparks right to the back of his head. They settled into the cut and slowly sealed it shut. Quinn twitched every now and then, but he had gone considerably quiet after he drank both potions. Moolinda shut her fan and nodded to Cyrus after the cut was sealed completely. “He can drink the last one now.”

As Cyrus coaxed Quinn into drinking the last potion—it was easier than before, as Quinn thought the potion tasted rather sweet—Moolinda retrieved some gauze to wrap around Quinn’s head. While the cut was sealed and no longer at a risk of bleeding, it was still sensitive to touch and the air. She didn’t want to risk it becoming infected, or opening up again. After she was done, she gently lowered Quinn back on the cot. Quinn made a soft sound and then shut his eyes, lifting his arms to hug himself. “Will he be alright?” Cyrus asked. Moolinda nodded.

“Of course. The potions I gave you were to help with the pain and to get him to sober up.”

“What about the third potion?”

“Sleeping draft. The sober potion has been known to leave people with some really bad headaches, so I thought it best if he slept through the pain.”

Cyrus nodded as he stared down at Quinn. The young man was already relaxing in the cot. His face relaxed and he didn’t look so tense, but no less sad. His breaths evened out, and though they hitched every now and then, they weren’t as shaky as before. His face was already starting to get some color back into them. “Come on, let’s move him to the backroom. It’s warmer in there.” Cyrus nodded.

They moved Quinn into the storage room where Moolinda kept piles of books, and a few other backup cots. Cyrus had heard rumors that she often let students who stayed up too late studying or were obviously combating some sort of sickness nap in the cots during classes, though he had never swung back long enough to see if it was true. He had his own classes after all, and he rarely even stepped into the life classroom. It was much sadder now, without… Sylvia. It was easier to say and think her name nowadays, but still difficult. He heaved a sigh as he and Moolinda placed the cot down beside a crate, where there was lantern. As Moolinda lit it, Cyrus retrieved a blanket from one of the boxes and draped it over Quinn. He was beginning to tremble from the cold.

“It’s so sad,” Moolinda whispered. Cyrus looked at her. She was staring down at Quinn, and as she did, she reached out and brushed his messy strands from his forehead. “Before… Well… You know… He was such a bright student. He and Sarai both. But they’ve been the same since…”

“I’ve heard that he drinks a lot, but not nearly as much as this. Not enough to get hurt.” Drake glanced down at him. “I wouldn’t think he’d drink on school grounds.”

“He could have certainly been in one of the taverns,” Moolinda pointed out. “He’s twenty-two, we can’t exactly bar him from going in there.” Cyrus sighed.

“I suppose so.” He looked at Moolinda. “Speaking of Sarai, he mentioned her. He said something about her leaving an amulet, and that she didn’t want to be his friend anymore. Do you know anything about that?” Moolinda shook her head, then hesitated.

“Well, perhaps.” Cyrus raised a thin eyebrow. “Sarai… Several days ago, she left a note on my desk. She thanked me for all I had done for her and the lessons I had taught her, but she said there wasn’t anything for her here. She told me she was going somewhere else, to quest. I have absolutely no idea where she went, though.” Cyrus stared at him before he looked down at Quinn.

“That doesn’t sound like her at all.” Moolinda sighed.

“Cyrus, she wasn’t even your student, how would you—”

“Everyone knew about Sarai and Quinn and… Everyone knew them, Moolinda. Everyone. Those three barely separated, they were with each other through thick and thin. You would think Sarai and Quinn would only cling to each other after what happened.”

“Cyrus, grief changes people. So does loss. Especially a loss like—”

“I am  _ well aware.” _

Moolinda realized she had touched a sore subject and she sighed. Of course. Cyrus would know just as well as Quinn what it was like to lose someone. He had lost two people, actually. Just as Quinn had. They stood in silence for awhile, staring down at Quinn as he slept. He looked peaceful. Cyrus wondered if he felt that way, and if he did, how long it had been since he had last felt it.

“You should go, Cyrus.” Moolinda’s gentle voice broke the silence. “Sunday is your busiest day, isn’t it? Your students have an exam.”

“I’ll postpone it.”

Moolinda stared at him. She blinked once, twice, and wondered if she needed to get her ears checked. “You’ll— You’ll  _ what?” _ Cyrus looked at her.

“I’ll postpone it. I’ll go and write up an official form and put it on the door now, actually.” He turned towards the door.

“Cyrus! You kept teaching even when you had the Krok  _ Plague  _ a few years ago! You’re seriously going to postpone your exam for this boy? He will be fine, the concussion will heal as he sleeps—”

“Everyone has left him, Moolinda.”

Moolinda paused. She stared at him. She swallowed. Cyrus was gripping the doorknob in his hand, staring down at his hand. He had a black band on his ring finger there. There was an intense emotion in his eyes, and Moolinda didn’t have to be a psychic to know what he was thinking of. Or, well,  _ who. _

“I won’t leave him.” Cyrus looked back at her and shook his head before he pushed the door open. “I won’t leave him, like I left Malistaire.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Quinn and Moolinda. She stared at the door for a few moments and then sighed, taking a few steps to leave, when Quinn suddenly whimpered. She faltered and looked back at him. His face was twisted a bit, like he was in pain. She furrowed her eyebrows before she waved her wand, and sparks came from it and fell over him. He wasn’t in any pain, the sparks would turn red if he was, but they stayed golden as they bounced off him and landed on the floor. She got an idea, and she waved her wand again. A soft stream of light came from the tip this time, and it fell over him like a blanket. A cloud formed above him and in it, a scene began to play.

_ He was lying in the cot. Sarai was beside him, stroking his hair as her other hand glowed green. She was smiling at him and her eyes twinkled in the low lighting of the lamp. She looked beautiful, as Moolinda was seeing her through his eyes. _

The cloud dispersed and left Moolinda feeling empty and sad. It had been a dream, but it was a dream she knew he wished to be real. She could feel him aching, could feel the hurt that had burrowed itself deep into his soul. It made her own ache. Perhaps it was the Life sorceress in her—they were always much more receptive to emotions—or perhaps it was just because she missed Sarai too. She missed Sarai, she missed  _ him,  _ she missed Quinn too. She missed the man he used to be.

And she could tell that he did too.

She stared at him for awhile longer, before she finally turned and left the room. The door shut with a soft  _ click _ behind her. A tear dropped down Quinn’s cheek.


	4. Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn wakes up, and faces his actions.

When Quinn peeled his eyes opened, he wished he was dead. His head was pounding with such a mighty headache that he felt like his head was going to split open. His eyes were swollen from his crying. He, in lesser words, felt like  _ shit.  _ He coughed once, twice, then curled his fingers around the edge of the blanket that was thrown over him. As he went to sit up and push it off, he realized he didn't recognize the bedsheet. He stared down at it for a bit before he finally thought to look around, and when he did, he let slip a curse so filthy it'd make his ancestors blush.

He had been in the storage closet of Professor Dalia's classroom plenty of times. It looked just this, though instead of charred remains of books and burnt dummies for target practice, there were clean books that were entirely intact—though rather dusty—pots for gardening, and boxes of projects set to be done later in the year. If he had to guess from the color scheme of the books and the gardening pots alone, he'd bet he was in the Life School's backroom. He couldn't imagine any other school would have cots and blankets. How the hell had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was going home and finding that…

His face hardened and he swallowed. He must've gotten drunk. He must've stumbled out into the streets, absolutely wasted, and gotten himself in trouble. He highly doubted he had gotten into the Life School and set up a cot for himself. He really didn’t have that much confidence in his drunk self. He grinded his teeth as he rubbed his head. He needed to get out of here. Apologize to Professor Wu, too. Memories were crawling their way into his head. He could remember looking up at Professor Wu as she clutched some bottles. She had passed them onto someone so she could focus on healing him. Who had been with her? God, he hoped it hadn’t been another student. This sort of thing would completely ruin any good standing he had with people here. Then again, he imagined there wasn’t much of that left regardless. God, he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home. He shoved the blanket off as he turned onto his side to get off the cot, only to stop as he came face to face with Cyrus.

Or, rather, Cyrus’s bald head.

Professor Cyrus was sitting on an old stool, behind the crate that was beside his bed. His arms were crossed on the crate behind the lantern, which had gone out sometime during the night, and his head was buried into the fold of his arms. His shoulders rose and fell at a steady pace as he slept peacefully. Quinn could only imagine the crick in his neck he’d have after he woke up, and even just the thought of it made him wince. He stared at the Professor for a few moments, and as he did, more memories came to mind. Especially when Cyrus blasted him into the wall, and what he had said moments before. He sighed.

“I quite deserved that,” he admitted in a soft mumble, even though he knew Cyrus couldn’t hear him. He slipped out of the cot as silently as he could, smoothing down his rumpled clothes. He glanced back at Cyrus and stared for a moment, before he picked the blanket up from the floor. He moved slowly so as not to startle Cyrus awake, and he carefully laid the blanket on him. He made sure it wouldn’t slip by hooking bits of it over Cyrus’s shoulders, then decided that would be enough and he slipped out the door. He closed it carefully behind him and heaved out a sigh. Okay. Now, he just needed to get to his dorm without running into anyone—

“Quinn! You’re awake!”

—of course. Nothing was ever easy for him.

He turned around. Luckily, the class was empty except for Professor Wu herself. She smiled at him. “You’re up earlier than I expected, it’s only just about to be eleven!” He blinked at her before he just nodded and looked away. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“My head?” He reached up to touch it and paused as he felt gauze instead of hair, before he just sighed and nodded. “It's, uh… It’s fine, Professor Wu. Thanks for healing me. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”

“Oh no, no trouble; you just worried us, that’s all!” He nodded before he looked away.

“Right. I should… I should go. I have, uh, studying to do.” Moolinda blinked at him.

“What? Dear, you shouldn’t be on your feet yet! Stay a bit longer!”

“No, I— I really have to go. Thanks for your kindness, Professor. Professor Cyrus is asleep in here, I’ve put my blanket on him, but you might wanna wake him up.”

He moved quickly to the door, weaving through the desks. He couldn’t be here. Not the Life School, anywhere but the Life School. He had picked Sarai up from here so many times, he could pinpoint the exact desk that was hers, and he couldn’t handle it. Not now. Not ever, most likely.

“Quinn, at least stay for some tea—!”

He felt bad, shutting the door in the middle of her sentence. But he just… He couldn’t. His head hurt, and he desperately needed to get home. It was way too bright outside, and he thought that was rather rude of the sun to do such a thing to him. He shut his eyes and shook his head, rubbing at his forehead before he hurried down the sidewalk. Fellow students were moving to and fro from their classes, some carrying thick spellbooks while others were obviously unprepared. It was a sight he was all too familiar with. He drew more attention then he would like because of his bandaged head, but no one asked. Either they knew better, they didn’t care, or they were running late to class.

By the time he got to his dorm, his head was both better and worse. The pressure had let up a bit in the back of his head, but now it was in the front of his head. He swallowed and nearly sobbed in relief as he shut the door behind him. He reached up and tugged off the gauze, being careful to unwind them. He touched the back of his head and found it tender, but not so much he felt the need to put on some more gauze. He sighed heavily as he rubbed at his eyes before he walked over to his bed. He slumped into the covers and shut his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried to think of waves to relieve his headache.

He was alone to his thoughts for awhile, but then he felt someone nuzzle the side of his face. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was, but he did anyway. He looked over and found Amber’s fluffy face inches from his, and she blinked down at him before she settled down beside him. “Hey girl,” he muttered. “‘m real sorry if I scared you and the others yesterday.” He reached out and stroked the underside of her chin in the way he knew she liked. “I would promise that that won’t happen again, but…”

She stared up at him as if she understood, then licked the inside of his palm. No other words needed to be said. He shut his eyes and laid his head back down, and just tried to exist for awhile.


	5. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn can't find his bow.

Quinn couldn’t find his bow.

He had torn up his dorm looking for it. He retraced his steps. He went up and down all the paths in Ravenwood. He dug up flower pots, he went up and down the path from Ravenwood to his favorite tavern, he asked neighbors, he asked fellow students, he asked teachers—except for Cyrus and Moolinda, he couldn’t even look at them right now without feeling embarrassment and shame—he burst into the Headmaster’s office, he got to the point where he ended up diving into the pond in the Commons, just to see if he could find it at the bottom. Someone from the school newspaper was able to get a picture of him coming out of the pond, sopping wet and frowning intensely, and it was on the front page of the newspaper. Quinn was going to find whoever had done it, and felay them.

But some good did come out of that, as he received a note the day the newspaper went out.

_ Quinn Firethief, _

_ I’ve heard that you’ve been looking for your bow. Have you not thought to come and see if I have it? _

_ — Professor Cyrus _

Had it been anything else, Quinn wouldn’t have gone. He would have considered it lost forever and just coped with it, probably bought something else to replace it. But it wasn’t some random hat, or some scarf that his father made for him. It was his bow. He  _ loved  _ that bow. It had been given to him when he was ten, and had to wait six years before he could even yield it. He would spend so long with it sometimes, cleaning it, changing the string, keeping it in mint condition until the day he got to finally yield it. Even now in his current state, where he drank more than he slept, he kept up with the maintenance that a bow like that needed. After every long quest, he changed the worn out string. After every battle, he would clean it until the wood shone. Needless to say, he loved that bow. He  _ needed _ that bow. The day he lost it was the day he hurled himself into the Spiral.

So he swallowed his pride, and after class was done for the day, he went to the Myth school. A few students he passed by snickered, but they all soon stopped when he glared at them as he went by. He knew what it was about; that stupid picture in the newspaper. It was mostly daring freshmen, who didn’t quite understand who he was, what he had done, or what he was going through now. The upperclassmen had the decency to not say anything about it, or laugh about it when he was around at least. God, he couldn’t believe this. He was a Prince, and he was once a great student. And now…

The last students had filtered out of Cyrus’s classroom by the time Quinn got there. When he stepped in, he didn’t see the teacher anywhere. Almost immediately his eyes darted around, looking frantically for his bow. Cyrus wouldn’t have it out on display, if he did, some Myth students in the dorm would have told him by now. Was it in his desk? Quinn hurried down the row between the desks, which were all neatly alined. He had never really cared to notice before, but now that he was looking so hard for his bow, Quinn could see how neat the Myth classroom was. There was no doodling on the desks, no initials from students pass. No gum from what he could see either, Quinn imagined that Cyrus would  _ never  _ let anything like that in his classroom. The carpet looked like it was freshly cleaned, and the paintings on the walls were lined up neatly. They brightened up the room quite a bit, actually. He wondered who had made them. He lingered by the desk, eyes sweeping over the drawers, and he was about to step behind it and start scavenging for his bow when he heard someone clear their throat. He nearly jumped out of his skin and he quickly turned around.

“I can assure you, Firethief, that I don’t have any room for a bow in my desk.”

Cyrus was standing in the doorway to a backroom. Quinn couldn’t see anything past him because of his tall figure, but he didn’t care. His eyes had immediately trained on what was in the teacher’s hands.  _ His bow!  _ Relief flooded through every pore in him and he rushed up to the teacher and held his hands out. Cyrus raised an eyebrow and when he didn’t immediately hand it over, Quinn opted for ripping it out of his hands instead. He cradled it to his chest as he took a few steps back, turning away from him to inspect his bow. He could only imagine the build up of dust and grim! The string was probably worn down too, he doubted he had encased it right! It would take him hours just to fix..

The bow was in perfect shape. The red wood gleamed and glowed in the same way it did just after a fresh polish. He stared down at it in bewilderment, golden eyes wide and nearly full of wonder as he ran his pointer finger along the edge. When he looked at it, there wasn’t a speck of dirt or dust. He had never really trusted anyone to clean or care for his bow, even if were wounded he’d be sitting up in bed and taking care of it. Not many people knew how to care for bows, they weren’t a very common weapon in their realms. One wrong brush, one badly misplaced touch, and it could ruin the entire bow.

“Did… Did you…?”

“Clean it? Yes. I’ve handled a few bows in my time, so I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Quinn looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked back down at the bow. “Why?” He finally asked after a long pause.

“Well, it was in need of a clean after it spent all night out in the elements beside my classroom, I’m afraid. I believe I was able to polish out all of the scuff marks, and luckily, no wood was chipped in your… Fall.” Quinn looked at him. Cyrus looked mildly uncomfortable. “Consider it an apology. For causing you harm.”

It took Quinn a moment to realize what he was talking about, and when he did, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable too. “No, it’s… It’s fine. I…” He trailed off and then sighed. He rubbed the back of his head. The cut was gone, now. If he ran his finger along the area for a bit, he might be able to find the smallest scar it had made. But it was nothing to write home about. “I deserved it. What I said… Sober or not, it wasn’t right.”

“Regardless, I should not have laid my hands on you. You’re a student, and I’m a Professor. It was improper. And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah… I’m sorry too.”

Cyrus nodded. He stared at Quinn before he sighed. “When I was trying to help you, you said something rather interesting.” Quinn groaned.

“Listen, I’m a drunk talker, alright? Whatever I said, probably didn’t even make sense—”

“You told me you liked the pain that came after dueling. You said it distracted you.”

Quinn froze. He looked like he had just been caught stealing out of the cookie jar. He stared down at his bow before he pushed it into the quiver on his back. The three arrows he had in there clinked and clanged, welcoming the other piece of them back. “Like I said. That doesn’t even make sense.” Cyrus scoffed.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. You’re horrible at it.” Quinn frowned at him deeply.

“I took a lot of diplomacy classes growing up, I’m a damn good liar,” he growled. Cyrus rolled his eyes.

“You seem to have forgotten your lessons.” Quinn’s cheeks turned a bright red. “I haven’t brought this up to fight with you. I’m merely concerned that you’re going out and putting yourself in danger, simply to have a distraction. I’ve heard you’re still questing.”

“So what if I am? I’m allowed to. I have high marks in all of my classes, and a damn good track record!”

“A good track record when you had a team!”

Quinn’s heart dropped. He swallowed and Cyrus sighed. “You are not fit for solo runs, boy. I have seen you fight, I have seen your cards and your deck. You have nearly no healing spells in there!”

“I have that fairy!” Quinn snapped.

“Three whole copies,” Cyrus deadpanned, “I’m sure that carries you through an entire dungeon.” Quinn’s temper flared.

“If you didn’t bring this up to fight with me, then what  _ do  _ you want?!” He shouted. “This is wasting my time! I could be studying right now, or hell,  _ drinking—!” _

“I want to mentor you.”

Quinn paused, which wasn’t an easy feat when he was in a rage. He stared at Cyrus. “You want to…  _ what?” _

“You have potential, Firethief, and I am tired of watching you drink it all away.” Cyrus stared down at him through the bridge of his long nose. “I want to see you grow, and prosper. I want to help you in any way that I can. I can teach you how to duel, and how to organize your deck better. But I will warn you, I am not an easy teacher, as I’m sure you’ve heard. You won’t be slacking, and if you drink on the day of our training sessions, there won’t be  _ any _ training that day. If it happens enough times, there still won’t be any training  _ at all.  _ Not to mention, if I do mentor you, there will be no more questing. Not solo at least. Not until you’ve proven yourself. If you take this opportunity, I expect you to earn it.” Quinn stared at him. His eyes dropped away and he looked deep in thought before he suddenly took a deep breath.

“Can you teach me how to fight mind control?” Cyrus stiffened. “And how to free those trapped in mind control?”

_ Without having to kill them,  _ goes unsaid, but not unheard. It took him a moment to find his voice, and more energy then he would have liked to admit to keep it steady.

“Those are difficult spells, and they all stem from different branches of Myth magic. You can’t just leap into it.”

“Then I’ll start from the beginning.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll start from the beginning. I’ll sign up for your school.”

Cyrus stared at him. “Firethief, you’re already studying in Ice and Fire!” Quinn shrugged.

“You already said I won’t be able to quest. That’ll free up a lot of time. I need to feel it with something, and that can either be alcohol, or some more classes. Which do you prefer, Professor?” Cyrus stared at him before he crinkled his nose.

“Very well. Don’t expect for me to go easy on you, simply because I’m training you and you have two other schools to master. If you fall behind, it’s your own fault.”

Quinn felt challenged. He hadn’t felt that way in awhile. He stood up taller and squared his shoulders before he looked Cyrus right in the eye.

“Trust me. I won’t.”

Quinn Firethief loved a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats a wrap! I have plenty more ideas, and I can't wait to write them ^^ Lets just say that Cyrus isn't the only professor that's going to have an impact on Quinn's life.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, was that rough.
> 
> It's gonna get worse before it gets better.


End file.
